Radiophonic Heart
by EwokPoet
Summary: An awkward 18-year-old boy who lives and breathes music just got a chance for his big break. The world of show business is cruel, but he may have wandered into its darkest corner. Willingly. This takes place 11 BBE / BBY.


Twelve hundred straight the last time he looked at the chrono. Six pairs of eyes versus one. Six pairs of hands twiddling their thumbs, all of those hands smaller than his own. Three different eye colours. Three different builds. One muscular singer. One angry little bassoon player. And the latest addition to the band - a grey bear of a man on drums. This was the last piece of the puzzle cube they needed and the previous twenty-two prospects did not have it. But this slightly hunched, scrawny youngling standing before them, holding a tiny datacard in his large hands…he was recommended by none other than Cade Skagor, the wailer with an Outer Rim cantina stench and Coruscanti aura to him, the starving artist and Core Worlder's answer to Dalyn R. Baobab!

"You're the last one for today, right?" The short bassoon player with azure eyes broke the silence. His facial expression was not clear - was he angry, or was he always like this?

"R-right." The subject nearly blushed. He realised that he did not know his favourite bassoon player's actual name, he knew they called him Wompy and that was it. Then again, he did not know anything about the drummer. "Can I s-start? Or are you going to ummm…watch my audition tape first, things like that? Why did you pack your bassoon up already, by the way?"

The muscular man with no music instrument anywhere near him stepped out. "We are going to do both. Wompy, Dale, get your instruments. It's not just about the sonic possibilities an individual can bring to our thriving microcosm of space debauchery and tunes worthy of a Hutt orgy, it's also about the said individual's persona." His near-black eyes were closing in on the fresh-faced youngling like an Imperial Star Destroyer would.

The young quetarra player shrugged. For a moment, he was not sure if Antonio Nokaarbe actually spoke Basic. Were those big words really that necessary? He handed the datacard to the protocol droid, who looked so beat that the silvergreen paint was peeling off her. Were they kriffing around with her? He knew everything about Steamy Wasaka Stew's reputation on the Coronet's ever-present party scene, he knew about their reputation and sure, this new drummer of theirs knew about it too…but this would have been too much. He was not above it all or anything – he wanted women, he wanted spice, but this was where he drew the line.

"Go on." Wompy nodded and took his bassoon out of the duraplast case. Dale, the drummer, came back and sat at his Sapphyra kit.

The hologram with the audition data was being replayed side by side as the candidate strummed on his Ebanze quetarra. A slow jam. Was that all he had? Seventeen of the hopefuls had ended their slow jams even before they started them.

 _"_ _Last month I...auditioned for Zap Farr's Extraordinary Jizz Orchestra. Actually, I didn't. When it was m-my turn, I gave up. Zap demands discipline from his wailers and I-i wanted to live the CoCo kind of life...deathsticks, beautiful women, parties."_

Antonio was so confused that he forgot to start singing. He always wanted a partner in crime for what he called raids. Wompy was not exactly a black hole for sucking in beautiful socialites and busty Twi'lek waitresses. Dale had said he was married.

 _"_ _I know all your songs by heart. Ros was one of my favourite people in the world and as…as you can see, I am doing my best to actually look like him, too. That is not hard, because I'm thin...hehe. But if you need me to be more attractive, I can hit the gymnasium. I heard that the zero-g workout was g-g-good."_

Wompy stopped playing. For some reason, his fingers were more itchy than usual. This kid was using an unusual strumming technique to respond to his rhythmic pattern. Had he read that they considered hiring an actual Zabrak at some point or did he hang out with the Zabrak underground community to learn all the secrets of quetarra from before the hyperspace era? That little bastard!

 _"_ _If you give me a song, any kind of a song, I can replay it on a quetarra. I have started learning it a decade ago. I liked Kriff Blasters and their holoalbum 'Ignore the Spuds' and I sat down and strummed…strummed…until I could play all eleven…I mean twelve…songs on it."_

Dale slowed down for a moment. Did this kid just say that he could play anything by ear? And what was he doing right now? Were his fingers composed of organic tissue or was he actually a droid? Why were Antonio and Wompy looking at the young one like that, anyway? Why was his fierce drumming turning into these _plooooook…plooooooooonk_ sounds?

 _"Funny things about me? I'm Human, but I'm flexible…like…I think they're called Teevans. I really like caf. I also like cigarras, they're my favourite food. And I can sing, too. Listen!"_

All three men were now listening to the young man harmonise to his own holographic projection. His original voice was a light lyrical tenor, something they have heard before, but mostly in operatic singers. But the voice coming from the chest of the full-colour, three-dimensional being standing before them was surprisingly high for a Human male.

"D...did you like that?" he asked the three men. "I practiced harmonising to myself, because...because I was too anxious to audition for anything after that audition I ran away from...or before, for that matter."

Wompy paused the holovideo just as the prospect smiled ear to ear, solely to find that the person standing before him was now sporting the same shy grin. He looked even younger than the shaky projection in shades of blue, with long and wavy, dark brown hair and freckles dotting his face. Even stranger, too – he was lip-synching to his own audition datacard!

"You forgot to tell us your name."

"Sorry! I was too excited when I recorded that! My name is Anjie Mencuri." The young one looked away for a moment. "On top of it, my art matters more than my name ever will. I believe in a philosophy where all the art that is ever to be created in this universe already exists...and therefore, the name of the one who finds it does not matter..."

"We will be right back." Antonio cut Anjie short. He left the room with Wompy by his side, as the two other men sat at the rickety table in the corner.

"Nice to meet you, Anjie." Dale patted the kid on the shoulder and offered him a small bottle of Alderaani beer. I'm Dandelion Roba Pavan...but don't call me that, ever. To my friends, I'm just Dale."

"N-nice to meet you, Dale." Anjie took a sip of the beer, put his foot up on his knee and started fidgeting around with his shoe, to the grey bear of a man's surprise.

...

The moment he and his best childhood friend got to the refresher stall, Antonio turned the water on.

"I cannot possibly sing along with him! Having him around will require me to actually sing. And he's almost pretty and sort of...stupid. I want him away from here."

"I agree and I don't agree." Wompy looked through the window and lit a cigarra. "He is clumsy, fidgety and definitely not the 'lady poison' our HoloNet ad called for. But have you heard him? He's a monster on that quetarra! Trust me, I can play an instrument and all..."

Antonio pouted and turned around. Wompy was often right. And he did not like when anyone else was right, especially when it would mean that he was...wrong!

"OK, I am going to tell him that he is in for one final test…" He turned back to Wompy and winked. "...and you will bring me the oven mitt."

...

"Steamy Wasaka Stew isn't just any group of promising young wailers. Our bodies are our weapons. We are lady poison, _Sprout_. Just imagine how interesting it could be..."

"My name is not Sprout."

Anjie sighed and then bit his tongue, fearing that something was just wrong with him. There he was, standing almost froz-naked before three men a decade older than him, wearing solely an oven mitt to protect his modesty... _and that's all they had to say_? He knew that something like this was to come at some point, but not immediately. He knew about the mitt trick that Steamy Wasaka Stew were famous for, but the last thing he expected was that he would have to strip at his audition. He was a musician, not a performer!

"You are Sprout from now on. It fits you well. You're really young." Antonio raised an eyebrow. "As I was saying – you may be precisely the kind of spice our Stew is missing. Lean, pale, the tortured artist type. Handsome. Nice body, too. Where are you from, once again?"

"Here. I studied at the Coronet City Conservatory of Music until about two months ago."

"You don't look like a Corellian to me." Antonio was now breathing in his face. "Come on, tell us the truth. Wompy is from Talus, I am from Kiffu. And...uh...oh..."

"I am a Corellian, you nerf-herder!" Dale protested. "And you are Kiffar as much as I am a Kaminoan."

"Okay, my father is from Naboo. I was born there, in a city named Keren. My mother's origin can be traced to Ha..."

"Naboo. I heard of that one."

"Can we talk about music instead? Why does anything else even matter here?"

"We can. Our music is in unison with our appeal. Therefore, we have one test left for you…"

Anjie grinned from ear to ear. He knew all SWS's songs and he was hoping that he would get to improvise to one of his favourites, even if he had to do so wearing that unfortunate stage costume.

"…you need take off the mitt." Antonio finished the sentence.

The young prospect's expression changed to a semi-suspicious, semi-terrified one. But he obeyed, hoping there was nothing else to come. For a couple of minutes, Antonio stared at him, while Wompy and Dale were waiting.

"Did I pass the test? Are you going to hire me?"

"Yes. But you have to cut your hair." Antonio slowly pointed down.

"W-what exact hair?" Anjie's eyes were open wide at this point, almost making him look like a Gand. "Don't tell me you want me to…"

"The hair on your head, of course. I'm the one with long, beautiful hair. And what did you think...Sprout?"

"Hey, I didn't cut mine." Dale Pavan pointed out his own long, messy mane. "And I won't, you nerfs. Why does the kid..."

"But he will. " Wompy cackled and nudged the drummer. "Because you want to create art with us, right?

"I…I will. Yes." Anjie looked down. "C-can I get dressed? I'm cold!"

"Yes, you can. And the rehearsal is tomorrow, at the same time. Make sure you're not late."


End file.
